


dustups and disappointments

by nukaquartz (stardustshrimp), stardustshrimp



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4 (mentioned), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: BRO IDK ANYTHING ABT FALLOUT, Courier Is Sole's Sister, F/M, Gen, and im playing new vegas rn bc i like steam sales, and just inserted an oc so that i could have sole survivor AND courier, and that cake is flavored like courier with undertones of sole survivor!, bruh idk even the basic tenets of fallout plot, but here is a world for me to play in and i will! i will have my cake!, getting started with hecking. a brief history of How Did The MC Get Here, i just read a bunch of fo4 fics bc theyre good, i will eat that cake!, i'll add characters as they appear!, oh hO, the relationship tag is to remind me what i'm working up to :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27785362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustshrimp/pseuds/nukaquartz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustshrimp/pseuds/stardustshrimp
Summary: Kessi was always a desert soul - she wasn't even supposed to be in Sanctuary Hills when the bombs fell. When she wakes up two centuries later, alone and a few years too early for it to count, she leaves the vault and immediately starts walking. The Mojave was where she felt at home, and if she was going to die, it was going to be there.
Relationships: Craig Boone & Female Courier, Craig Boone/Female Courier, Female Courier & Female Sole Survivor
Kudos: 6





	1. Oh, Brave New World (That Has Such Horrors In It)!

**Author's Note:**

> i call this one “i Love the concept of the sole survivor but i’m playing through new vegas right now for boone” and boy, let me tell you,
> 
> anyway im working through fnv and i did get fo4 too, so any glaring imperfections will prob b corrected as soon as i know even a lil bit about how canon actually works :0
> 
> bro, did you know that you can walk across the nation in six months? granted, it would be at least twice that long with the post-apoc roadblocks, but still!

**PRELUDE:  
As Luck Would Have It**

* * *

* * *

When she moved across the country to be closer to her sister in the Commonwealth, Kessi hadn’t quite been thinking about her future plans. It had been one of those decisions too close to impulsive, but tempered with the certainty that familial obligation brings. It had also involved the very distinct thought that Ms. Lawyer owed her now, seeing as she’d uprooted herself from California to be the knight in shining armor to Nora’s sudden baby panic.

 _I don’t know what to do,_ she had said over the phone. _Nate and I barely know what we’re doing and you know Mom isn’t happy. I can handle university, I can handle being a military wife, but - god, Kes, I’m having a_ baby _. A live, flesh child. That I produce._

 _That you produce,_ Kessi had agreed. _Look at it this way - is there anything you can’t do? Here you are already expanding your empire’s bloodline, and little Nora is going to be a blast if she has half your brains and any of my charm. Oh, and Nate’s build. That’ll be good. Look, don’t worry. I get it. I’ll be over on the next flight as soon as I can to help you get settled, okay?_

The thing was, she had always meant for it to be a temporary stay, maybe a couple weeks of moral support duty - for all her anxiety, Nora was remarkably adaptive and vastly empathetic; she wouldn’t need help for long. But as soon as she set foot in Massachusetts and had her younger sister in her arms, she could feel the shift of her plans clicking into place. She wouldn’t be leaving for a long while.

_Hindsight_ , Kessi thought idly, pressing forward on long-aching legs. _Hindsight could be a real comedian, sometimes._

* * *

Cassandra Adler had not set out to abandon her family in a vault. That decision came after days, weeks of pacing and fretting and cursing herself to tears. It came after frustrated attempts at osmosing information the way Nora had a knack for.

After the four of them were ushered up the street and to the vault amid the shriek of nuclear projectiles bearing down on the entire continent. After the technicians had pushed the crowd into the semblance of order, filed them away into neatly partitioned little pods because cryogenics were apparently the new big thing for when the world was shaking itself apart. A kiss to a temple ( _here, Nate, you take him)_ , and a squeeze of briefly intertwined hands ( _we’ll be okay, just relax)_ , and then the chill seeping through everything, and then the black, and then…

And then, and then, and then. A quick power-nap was what they’d all been promised, and was that ever the worst understatement that Kessi had ever heard. It had felt like days passed when she came to herself again, shaking violently and spilling out of cryostasis onto the frosty metal floor. She had never even jokingly thought she’d have been asleep for centuries.

The memory of the chilled, silent underground batted against her skin even as she clambered over a hulking slab of cracked-up asphalt, making for the remnants of an underpass for some kind of shelter. Even now, she could recall the cold. It made her a little sick.

Cassandra Adler had not planned to abandon her family. She’d spend every night repeating apologies to Nora and Nate, to tiny Shaun, but if she had to sit vigil over their still-frozen forms for another useless stretch of forever? The waiting game would kill her. The dread had almost done the job first, once she’d woken up - all the others’ ice cradles had gone dead, leaving them lifeless victims of malfunction or malfeasance or _something_ just as awful, and she would be eternally grateful if the stab of panic for her family’s safety ( _oh no, no no no, not them)_ dulled in her memories sometime or another.

If anything, what she found instead of iced-over corpses was arguably worse. What do you do when the ones you care about are still alive, but trapped in their own heads? Nate and Nora and tiny Shaun still breathed, still experienced the slightest twitches from deep sleep, but Kessi was a nurse, not a cryogenics technician.

The standard controls for reanimation hadn’t worked. The manual she dug up from the Overseer’s office amid the worst kind of crime scene hadn’t given her the magic code she needed. The couple’s vitals were all presenting well and they were _fine_ , physically, so what was she going to do, risk killing them in some deluded attempt to find comfort for herself?

The concrete crumbled only a little bit under Kessi’s back as she settled back against the column. Blessed shade. The lukewarm water from her threadbare pack could almost be considered refreshing. Anything was better than the cold.

Nora’s soft features, untroubled and free of anxiety. Nate’s hard brow mollified by induced unconsciousness. Even her nephew looked to be blissful in sleep; the three carried absolutely none of the cruel absurdity of the situation. That burden would be left to Kessi, who only made it through most of three weeks scrounging for answers and (oh, desperation) dead mutant roach meat before the realization finally settled on her. There was no waking them; this was as close to death as they were getting, and maybe someday she would see the silver lining in it. Someday, but not if she died in the steel trap waiting.

_Where do I go, though? Do I stay here? Do I look for people up there?_

Then the thought that had been fluttering in the back of her mind since she moved to Boston in the first place. _I want to go home._

And so Kessi gathered herself, scribbled a note to leave on Nora’s cryopod, and breached the surface, shoving the thoughts of her sleeping beauty sister and her kin behind her.

Compass, she thought first. Water, she thought next.

 _Weapon_ , she thought finally, once the brave new world showed her its teeth.

All in all? Waking up in the post-apocalyptic future _sucked._

* * *

The note would be read years after it was written, the words cursive and shaking and coated with frost.

_I headed back home. Couldn’t wait any more for you to wake up or I was going to lose it. I hope you read this, someday._

_Remember that I love you._


	2. Boots Worn Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In hindsight, it was a wonder that she'd lucked out long enough to get on the path to Vegas. There were giant _scorpions _, for goodness' sakes.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go here we go here we go here we!!!
> 
> okay listen, ive been going through my current fnv playthrough really weirdly so :O im gonna have to do a few more runs to get the best picture of the mojave!

Here was the thing.

One of the items on Kessi’s bucket list had been to do a cross-country hike. No obligations, time crunch, just a well-prepared pack, a good GPS and at least six months of actual journeying time. It had been pretty down there on the list for a reason, because she was fit enough, but not a juggernaut, and because where was she going to _get_ at least six months of free time short of quitting her job? It wasn’t feasible.

Two hundred years later, she was forced to concede that not only was it feasible, but it was also far, far more treacherous than she’d ever anticipated. Whatever whackjob had decided that launching the big ones was a good idea had probably not accounted for the fact that generations from his time, the very land she trod upon on this day was inhabited by the most horrifying, dangerous, and downright _not cute_ creatures ever conceived of.

It took a stretch of awful luck for her to finally crash through the rotting doors of an empty rest area, woozy and bleeding and aching from the sting of a giant scorpion, of all things. It was a little off track from the beeline she was making to the southwest - more south than she would have liked, but at that point, she would have gladly backtrack all the miles she’d walked in order to take a real rest. The air was thick with dust and abandonment, and Kessi slumped against the counter and breathed it all in, eyes closing in exhaustion. When she found the strength to crack them open again, there was the corpse.

It would be the first time she looted a body, and the first time she weighed the morals of doing so before ultimately deciding that she was tired, and hurting, and defenseless aside from her teeth, and the poor dead guy wasn’t going to miss his things much. Any further whisper of discomfort was quieted all the more when she went through his moth-eaten bag: there was a bottle of cola, a well-worn gun, a _s_ _timpak_ , for crying out loud. The collection of bottle caps gathered in a side pocket were a little bit confounding, and she debated the merit of taking them. Maybe the body had been a collector, and just liked how they glinted in the light? But then, everything else he’d been carrying seemed to be just the bare essentials. What did he do with them?

“Maybe,” she said to the dead man, voice raspy from thirst and exhaustion, “you’re a stalker, straight out of _Roadside Picnic._ Couldn’t find bolts to throw, huh?”

It was a half-joke that barely brushed the fringes of comedic, but it did get her thinking. She’d seen all sorts of mutated creatures so far; she’d seen ponds of green sludge that made her sick just to look at. At this point, she wouldn’t be surprised to find that there _were_ horrifying and invisible anomalies that could only be detected by throwing bits of metal ahead of her. Might as well be safe, because she wasn’t down for feeling sorry.

Kessi must have rested for almost a full day before she heard scuffling somewhere beyond the doors. Animals. It was as good an incentive as any to start walking again. Quietly, she stood, grabbed the hat she’d picked off of her quiet roommate, and slipped out the back entrance.

Southwest.

* * *

Learning how to shoot a gun when you only had so many bullets was an experience. Kessi fumbled through the basics of loading and unloading the gun for days at a time before she was ready to even try the mechanics of firing.

The coyote she took down with four bullets had to be either the dumbest one of his kind, or the unluckiest.

She dry-heaved through the whole grisly process of skinning the thing, but at least she did know how to make the fire. Raw coyote meat wasn’t something she wasn’t ready to try, just yet.

* * *

It was a week before she came across people.

It took a bullet in her left arm and an awful lot of running for her to realize that people weren’t always good news.

* * *

If her throat wasn’t in a constant state of feeling like sandpaper, she thought, maybe she’d sing something. Of all the times to not have a radio on hand.

Nora would have been cringing from the first note, and it would have been a green light to keep belting out every overrated classic as badly as Kessi could manage. The thought could’ve brought a small grin to her face any other time.

It still hurt a little too much to think about Nora.

* * *

Kessi began to talk.

Little things, observations she might have made to a friend traveling with her. If she could speak like she wasn’t alone, then it would make the goings all the easier.

“Look at that,” she would tell herself, sipping at a warm bottle of Nuka Cola. “Mountains. We’re practically home already!”

“Look at that,” she would follow up days later. “Mountains. They’ve kind of lost their novelty, don’t you think?”

“What do you think you’re going to find, anyway? From what you saw of Boston, it probably won’t look _pristine.”_

_“_ Did it ever? You don’t live life as a desert dweller for the crisp cleanliness. Besides, the Commonwealth was never _that_ pristine.”

“Like you’d know. You barely ventured past the places you absolutely had to go. It wasn’t a secret that you hated being there.”

“Nora might have needed me around, but it wasn’t home.”

“To be fair, what would you even know about home? You never even settled anywhere for very long. What was it, California, New Mexico, Nevada, Arizona, California again?”

“ _Yeah._ That’s home, okay?”

“And not just because you wanted to get as far away from your parents as soon as it was an option, huh?”

“Okay, just - no. This is dumb. I’m not actually getting heated at _me.”_ Kessi ran her hands over her face, wiped the grime off on her pilfered jacket, pretended that some of it wasn’t tears. “Talking works better with two, anyway. Even I’m not cute enough to put up with just me.”

* * *

The words that lined the yellowed pages of the journal were the day-to-day chicken scratch of a long-gone wasteland dweller, and Kessi was delighted to add her own thoughts to the remaining pages once she’d found the thing wedged under an overturned desk.

_Always have been proud of my handwriting, and it’s good to put it back into practice. I like to talk well enough, but writing is a whole different kind of lyrical._

_Makes things feel normal, for a second._

* * *

**_Day However-Many of the Arduous Trek Across the Country_ **

_Dear Nora:_

_I have time to jot down some things and I’ll take that time. I have a stimpak working on some head-and-limb wounds. Nothing too serious, but I did take a tumble down a mountainside. Contusions aplenty, a definite concussion, and a sprained knee. If anything, I would like to call it a miracle. Want to guess the reason? Go on, guess the reason._

_If you guessed, “giant ripoff Godzilla that runs at a speed of horrifying miles per hour and will definitely go bump in my nightmares,” then congratulations! I pitched myself off that ledge without a second thought and didn’t even bother to check if there was anything there to break my fall._

_There was water, though. A shallow watering hole that I crossed like a maniac as soon as I gained some sort of bearing. Didn’t stop to see if the lizard dove after me; based on the fact that I’m, well, here, I’m going to wager that it didn’t._

_Good. I wouldn’t even make a decent meal. Getting some nice muscles, though._

_I don’t know if I hope you’re still asleep or not. Things out here are insane, though I have no doubt that with Nate and Shaun by your side you’ll definitely be okay. Maybe you’ll find some other people in what’s left of Sanctuary Hills. When I slipped out, I had seen little lights in the distance - campfires, maybe. I didn’t stop to check; I didn’t want anything to do with people when I came out of the vault. It was a special kind of madness that had taken hold of me, but I can’t say that I regret where it’s gotten me so far. Not dead, moving along, slowly coming to terms with things._

_I do regret that you couldn’t come with me. Would you have wanted to? With Shaun around, we’d probably just end up staying right where we were, carving out a living in the Hills. I don’t think I’d want that. I wouldn’t want that._

_Maybe it’s good that I leave now, instead of later. If I had gotten attached to any other people back there, leaving would be so much harder._

_It’s okay, though. Once I make it back to familiar territory, then I’ll stop skirting around towns and camps I pass every now and then. Maybe then I’ll finally get to introduce myself to someone and feel a human connection again._

_I hope your dreams are good._

_Love you._

_Kes_

* * *

She’d never know the exact time herself, but the first real conversation with another live person came eleven months, two weeks and four days after she started walking. It was with a dusty looking woman with a two-headed cow in tow, of all things. At this point, though…

Normally, Kessi made it a point to not approach other people. Not until she got where she was going - that was the rule. But over the last week, the horizon had spiked out into a mass of distant mountain ranges and the ground beneath her feet had become a kind of grainy that gave her a surge of hope. This felt like familiar ground. The woman hadn’t even been terribly hostile on her approach - just casually leaned aside to show off the pistol at her hip: a standard-issue warning. Her eyes were creased with wry humor, though, and Kessi figured she wasn’t in danger of using her last stimpak quite yet.

“Afternoon,” she greeted, drawing up closer. Her voice crackled with general disuse and she shook her head once, clearing her throat. “Sorry, all this dust. You wouldn’t happen to mind some questions, would you?”

“Huh.” The woman’s eyes flicked over her, one brow raising under her wide-brimmed hat. “That depends. You wouldn’t happen to have some bottlecaps in need of spending, would you?”

Kessi blinked. Well, what do you know. There was a question that she hadn’t really thought needed answering. Her hand moved to jostle the strap of her pack, just enough for the metal caps on the outside pocket to jingle.

“That I do,” she said brightly. “You’re a trader, then?”

“Well, there ain’t any other reason for me to be hauling a loaded up brahmin down the highway, babe.” A half-serious eyeroll that jostled some greying locks of hair loose. “Come on. Ask your questions and have a look at my stuff while you’re at it.”

Even if she hadn’t been curious about the wares in particular, Kessi found that the sight of all the pouches and packs full and ready for perusal stoked in her the same kiddish feeling as window-shopping on a particularly good sales weekend. Two pairs of jeans for _that_ price? She could be persuaded.

She stepped forward to the docile creature, peeking over the various items. If any of them were out of her price range, well, she’d see. For now, though, the browsing was fascinating enough.

“So I’m not familiar with all of the area around here,” Kessi began, glancing over at the trader. “Could you let me know where exactly I’ve wandered? Where is here, exactly?”

The older woman’s eyebrows jumped for a moment. Asking explanation for a stranger’s naivety probably wasn’t in her list of habits; she visibly put aside her curiosity and rested a fist on her hip thoughtfully. “Shoot. Well, you’re about thirty miles up from Goodsprings. Small place, just about the sleepiest I can think of in the whole of the Mojave Wasteland. Not the most exciting of destinations.”

“Goodsprings…” Certainly had to be a small place - in all her moves from state to state, she’d never quite stumbled on that one. Maybe it was just a new name established by new-age people. “But it’s still in the Mojave. That’s fine, then, I can work with that.” It wasn’t enough to ground her in the area, but maybe… “Oh. Can you tell me what the biggest city or settlement is, then? The most iconic, the must-see.”

“Something like Vegas?” The merchant arched a brow, the gesture somehow stately amidst all the dust and cracked asphalt.

Kessi brightened.

“Las Vegas! That’s perfect. If you can spare me a look at a map, I can figure the rest out pretty easily. Or if you could just tell me the best route? I’ll write it down.”

Her vigor was met with the widened eyes and incredulous air of someone who had just heard either the worst thing they would all week, or the stupidest. It stung at Kessi’s pride just a little bit, but she bore it - she probably did look kind of not-all-there, with the distance she’d walked and the awakening she’d had.

The merchant pressed a hand to her temple, scrutinizing the former popsicle with a new criticism.

“I was thinking you looked a little young and dumb, but I got to say I have questions,” she finally said. “First off, just thinking that you’d just do a little jaunt to New _Vegas_ , of all places. I mean, you must have had one hell of an outdated map besides to still be thinking pre-war like that. And wandering the wastes by yourself? With _that_ gun? And - is that a vault suit? _Babe.”_ She pressed a hand to her temple, wincing. Her pained expression grew more severe the more she thought about it; Kessi honestly couldn’t blame her. “I don’t even wanna look at you anymore. Hurts me somewhere deep to.”

“You and me both.” Kessi smiled, hoped it wasn’t as embarrassed as she felt. “Sorry, I guess you can say that I’ve been a little, uh, insulated.” A sheepish laugh. “Didn’t realize it was that obvious. Oh, so, when it comes to bottlecaps, I’ve got about… thirty-six, last I checked, but hopefully that’s good for something. Here, I’d like to take a bottle or two of water. How much?”

The look on the trader’s face was equal parts surprise and consternation, and she got the feeling that the topic change hadn’t worked nearly as well as it could have. At least she was getting an idea of the local monetary system?

“That’ll be eight caps each, but I can be persuaded to…”

The older woman suddenly stopped. She glanced up the far-reaching road, out into the horizon, and looked hard back at Kes. “Whoa, listen, no, hon. You’re thinking of heading up to New Vegas with that kind of hole in your pockets? Walk with me for a stretch. I can’t pay you like I would a merc, mind - you’ll kindly notice I’ve been watching my own back here - but I’ll sure see about getting you a nice tip. You _can_ shoot that gun, right?”

“Thanks. Yes, I can - well enough to hit things a good fifty percent of the time. That’s really kind of you, Miss…”

“Oh, _no_. Manners.” She shook her head once again, long-suffering. “It’s River, on account of I’m just refreshing to be around. Either that, or my sense of humor is drier than the Rio Grande.”

Kessi’s eyes were wide with surprise. “I can believe both.” She grinned. “I’m Kes. It’s a pleasure.”

* * *

Her time with River was brief, as far as time went; it might as well have been a year for all that Kessi was gleaning from it, though.

“Travelling by your lonesome is always a gamble,” River informed her as they made their way past signs and posts and grave markers. “All the easier for gangs and like unsavory characters to shoot you dead and steal your brahmin. Not like I don’t consider myself a kind soul, but I must be honest…” She huffed a dry laugh and threw a glance at her thawed-out shadow. “There was a _little_ bit of desperation in my offer.”

“I won’t take offense if you’re okay with me being glad for that desperation,” Kessi replied, sipping on her water and scanning the dustlands. “It worked out pretty good, though, right?”

“Brush up on your skills and it will have, little bullet. Come on.”

* * *

“Most things out here’ve been dipped in rads,” River advised. “Food, drink, most places. I don’t know how things were in your vault, but out here, you’re gonna want some Rad-Away for when you take in a little too many of the atom’s disease.”

“So the Nuka-Colas you have? You had me buy an unsafe product?”

“Well, if you couldn’t be bothered to do your own research…”

* * *

“Aim a little lower for those geckos, babe,” she barked, her own piece at the ready just in case Kessi’s wasn’t up to snuff. “They like to duck their heads when they’re angling for a bite!”

“Oh. Right!”

“And stop holding yourself so tightly!”

* * *

“So are there any… I don’t know, wars or territory scuffles going on? There have been a whole lot of - what do you call them - chem addicts?”

“Chem fiends, yes. Absolute hooligans, all of them.”

“Yes, them. But as far as actual gangs or militias or anything, I haven’t seen or recognized many.”

River pursed her lips. “Well, that’s some kind of history lesson you asked for. Alright, listen up. I’ll tell you what I know. So a few years ago - what, did you want me to start from creation on? - there was this battle over that old-world facility, the Hoover Dam…”

* * *

The last things River gave her when they parted ways were a folded up map and a sense of direction.

“I have a ways to go still, but it’s out of your way. So listen up,” she said, folding her hands into fists and setting them on her hips just like she’d done the day they met. “You take that map and make your way to Vegas safe, you hear? And if you’re looking for work - which, babe, you’re gonna need - I want you to look into delivery work.”

“Like the mail service?” Kessi blinked, a little enamored with the idea that the postal service had somehow survived the apocalypse. Maybe they would have some new-age version of the Pony Express, with glowing mutant horses? “It sounds like an adventure.”

“Oh, it is. See, I like taking my journeys slow. Merchant work suits me fine. You, though - you’ve been nothing but a whirling dust devil this whole time. So you take notes. I hear good things about the Mojave Express, if you like a fast pace. And I know you’d love the fast pace.“

Kessi had never liked goodbyes much when they were being said to her. Usually, it was her closing the door and putting some distance between others for a while. Her eyes stung just a little with the realization that she was striking out alone again, for a time.

“I’ll look into it, River.” She reached out to clasp the other woman’s fingers and give them a squeeze. “Thank you. I don’t suppose you’d like to give me some contact details, though? So I can find you once I’m more settled?”

“Way this world works, I’m sure I’ll find you!” River’s eyes twinkled; she pressed a small pouch of caps into Kessi’s hands. “You’ve got yourself a little debt to pay, after all.”

* * *

_Dear Nora:_

_The roads were blistering under the harsh sun; the fauna bared its teeth, harsher still. All the world was a stage for a series of trials that would be overcome._

_The year was 2280, and the weary traveler Kes was knighted a courier for the Mojave Express._

_Miss you. Love you all._

_When you wake up, look into the southwestern courier lineup if you can._

_I’ll be the very best one._

_Kes_

* * *

The year was 2281, and this time, when Kessi Adler knelt, it was not for a metaphorical knighting. Her mouth was sharp with dust and iron, her body heaving with pain and exertion.

Blood ran rivulets down her face; she looked the man looming above her in the eye.

"Must seem like an 18-karat run of bad luck, eh?" he said, and she bared her teeth at the 9mm barrel pointed right at her skull. "Truth is... the game was rigged from the start."

Dying, she thought, was a little like cryofreeze.

A bright flash of white, and then it went black.


	3. The End of the Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay okay im finally through with the almost backstory-like part >:0 nEXT TIME we will see boone!!

Resurface. Reawaken? Was this death or the ER room?

Her head was bleeding souldust. Oh, no.

Breathe, breathe, breathe.

_18-karat run of bad luck -_

She came to herself with a gasp that turned into some terrible, ghastly cry. Everything hurt. Everything _hurt._ Was it a concussion? Had there been blunt force trauma? Why did she feel so empty…

“You’re awake - how about that?”

The world spun, her insides heaved, and it took a moment (an hour a year?) for her vision to clear enough to register the doctor.

Greying, balding, tea-stain tan. Stern brow. Kind eyes. He was attentive, whoever he was. She felt she could tell him anything.

So, “houndstooth,” she choked out. Was that her voice? “Plaid? No, no. Checks. I hit my… head. Hurts.” There was too much in her head; she didn’t know how to get it out. Didn’t know how to say it. “I died,” she tried again, helplessly.

“Take a breath, now. Easy. You’re awful confused, but that’s to be expected - you’ve been out cold for a couple days there. Why don’t you relax for a second?”

He was very calm, she thought, telling her that she had been shot in the head and left under a thin layer of topsoil. Her first impulse on hearing it was to laugh; she held onto the urge, to think about later when she had a spare neuron for it.

She fumbled when he offered her the mirror, straining to pick out the face she saw, to give it meaning. She’d been put back together. Sewn and mended - a ladder stitch with some stuffing lost. Accurate? Maybe.

Skin that had seen the sun. Brown eyes that searched and caught in the light, narrowed in discomfort. Dark hair uninterested in compliance, wispy in the locks that drifted down her face, her neck, that couldn’t hide the shatter-scar right there on the skull. This was her, whoever she was.

 _What’s your name?_ The question caught her blindsided; she floundered a little bit. _Who are you_? Names caught in her mind, flittered aside when she tried to track them to anything substantial. _(Nora,_ she thought, and that thought brought a sharp ache with it. No, not Nora then.)

The doctor had put her out of her misery bringing up the note she’d had on her when she landed on his operating table - no personal information, nothing of sentimental value. Just a failed delivery, a missing item (a chip of some kind?) - and a title.

“Not the name it ought to be,” Mitchell had mused, writing it off on her papers. The Courier was inclined to agree.

It was later on, after she’d been deemed fit to travel on her own without collapsing, after she’d bid the doctor goodbye and taken in the rickety village around her, that she realized that that courier’s note held one more thing.

A lead.

* * *

Everything about the world around her seemed wrong. Was wrong. She couldn’t put her finger on it for a while.

Too dusty? Too old? She remembered a brighter environment, not so desolate. Over-romanticism? She shook the thoughts aside in time to give Sunny Smiles a warm little grin of her own.

“Thank you,” the Courier said. The weight of the varmint rifle the other woman handed her wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. She’d shot weapons before. “For helping me, I mean. Thanks.”

“It’s no trouble.” Sunny lived up to her name; Cheyenne wagged her tail generously. “Besides, you’ll be helping me with these geckos anyway. Fair’s fair.”

Under Sunny’s guidance, the Courier proved to be decent at shooting down the toothy little reptiles. It took a bit of adjustment to figure out the rifle, but at least she had the basics down.

“You’re not half bad,” Sunny commented lightly. “You seem to know how to aim at them.”

“They like to duck their heads to bite,” the Courier said, smiling helplessly. “Just something I knew.”

* * *

“What year is it?” she thought to ask over the evening campfire, as Sunny showed her the ins and outs of crafting healing powder. Sunny looked over at her thoughtfully, but showed no sign of judgment.

“2281,” she replied, crushing the xander root deftly. “It’ll be 2282 in a few months.”

The Courier nodded thoughtfully, following the conversation where it led. “Got it. Been an eventful year then?”

The answer didn’t sit right with her, though, especially since her initial guess had been more along the lines of the 2070s.

* * *

The Courier rediscovered her name as she stood atop the hill she’d been shot on and gazed down into the shallow, empty grave. The dust her boots kicked up was thick and remorseless, and she gasped and choked on it, turning her face against the worst of the stink of dead bloatflies.

This was mortality. If she looked hard enough, she could see the void. So close to nothingness and then dragged back. She clenched her jaw uncomfortably, shut her eyes tight.

_The game was rigged from the start._

When she opened them, she saw the faded blue journal half-buried in the dust. Kneeling and grasping the spine, the Courier fumbled with the edges, sweeping dust off the torn, yellowed pages with equal parts reverence and freneticism.

The loops of graphite letters weren’t steadfast on the paper, and the treatment it had been through had left it tattered, missing pages. She squinted, examining the writing.

 _Dear Nora_ , said one of the pages. The familiar name resounded within her; the curved lettering became all the more familiar. This was hers, or something like hers before the bullets.

 _‘You would think that I’d get paid better for–’_ another fragment said. ‘ _I’m just so charming. Right?’_

 _‘Big scorpions = not cute’_ said another.

_‘I’m sorry I left. Not a good sibling, am I?’_

_‘And I love you. I miss you. I’m working hard.’_

_‘Kes.’_

The name came in various iterations, broken up and scattered and ever-present regardless.

_Love, Kessi._

_Be safe! Kes_

_Kind regards. Kes._

As the courier knelt by her grave, holding onto the tattered book as if it were the most precious thing, she thought that having a name to fill the void was a double-edged sword. On the one hand? She felt more like a person. More coherent. Lighter. There was something to her beyond the two bullet holes in her head.

On the other hand, it took until sundown for the tears to stop coming.

* * *

The dreams started coming to her, then. Or maybe she’d just been forgetting them.

Flashes of old arguments, of tight embraces, of bitterness and guilt because of it.

Of the searing heat as she stood on a platform and watched the world light up.

The more she dreamt and woke, the more impossible the world seemed.

* * *

By the time she was ready to hit the road from Goodsprings, her mind had solidified into something a little less like sad oatmeal. She was addled, still, and had gaps in her memory - the biggest being a considerable stretch before she’d taken the shots to the head - but she could stand well enough, and she could aim and dodge well enough to have helped fend the Powder Ganger attack off.

Something else she’d held on to was apparently the innate need to call herself _so darn cute_ from time to time. The amount of times she instantly wanted to react to things with an obnoxious little grin was so prevalent that she felt it was just a part of who she was.

“You’re lucky you’re a sweet one,” Trudy had mused, shaking her head lightly. She thought it was the nicest thing she’d heard that day.

Fully kitted out with a proper little arsenal and clothes that would do her good in a knife fight at least, Kes stood at the edge of Goodsprings, feet planted on the asphalt. She glanced back at the village - smiled a crooked, fond thing. Everything on her was a product of their goodwill: the rifle, the wrapped food and water in her pack, the simple armor, and her favorite: the dented Pip-Boy strapped to her forearm.

She’d have to come back, soon. Bring some gifts.

But first, she had a black-and-white suit to catch up to.

That was her _package_ that had been taken, after all. That was her _skull_ that had been lead-pierced.

“I’m coming for you, Checkers,” she said to herself. The smile was taut and full of promise.


End file.
